Sarah Armstrong - 02 - Blood Lines Read Online Free

and tried to rearrange her short white curls. It was hopeless. After working with the horses, she really needed a shower and a change of clothes.
    “If you gave a woman more notice, Bobby, she’d be more presentable,” Mom said, taking a playful swipe at him with the halter. “How’s a person supposed to look her best without time to fuss?”
    “You look beautiful, Nora,” Barker assured her, brushing his hand gently across Mom’s cheek. “You always look beautiful. And you invited me for dinner. Remember?”
    “Of course,” Mom said, looking flustered. “I’ve been so busy with the horses, I guess I forgot.”
    Just then, Frieda called down from the hill: “Mrs. Potts, I think maybe you should call Doc Larson. I think maybe something is wrong with Emma Lou.”
     
    “What I’m worried about, Nora, is that the foal isn’t due for more than a month, and its lungs aren’t quite there,” said Doc Larson, drawing blood from the black and white pinto’s right jugular vein. The mare looked weary, and her awkward girth bulged, wide andheavy. “But if it’s what I think it is, Emma Lou may deliver sooner. We’ve got to hope not too early.”
    “What do you suspect?” Mom asked. “What’s wrong?”
    “Well, I hate to speculate,” Doc said. At five-foot-five and maybe 150 pounds, Doc was a small, fidgety man. His dad’s family was Norwegian and his mom Irish, and his hair used to be red before it grayed like the stubble that covered his chin. The best horse vet in the county, Doc wasn’t fond of delivering bad news and when faced with the prospect always appeared to have one foot headed toward the door.
    “We won’t hold it against you if you’re wrong, Doc,” I said. “But we need an idea of what’s wrong with the mare.”
    Chewing on the inside of his mouth like he used to on plugs of tobacco before his missus made him quit, Doc said, “Well, I figure this mare of yours has most likely come in contact with some pesky bacteria.”
    “Emma Lou has an infection?” Maggie asked, her voice a couple of octaves higher than usual. Doc turned to her and frowned.
    “It’s not as bad as it sounds, Maggie,” he said, trying to be reassuring. “Thanks to Frieda, we caught it early.”
    On her return trip to the barn, Frieda noticed that Emma Lou’s eyes were irritated, the lids red. We now knew that the horse was also running a low-grade fever.
    “How sick is she?” Maggie asked. “Is my horse going to die?”
    Doc frowned again, looking at her straight on. “I’m not going to lie to you, Maggie. If it’s what I think it is, it could cause the foal to abort, leave one or both horses blind, and, in the worst cases, it can be fatal,” he said, his brow furrowed in worry. “But it’s treatable. When we get Emma Lou’s blood work back, we’ll know more, but in the meantime, I’m going to put your girl on an antibiotic, to get a head start.”
    “I’ll take care of her,” Maggie said, her voice small and frightened.
    “Of course, you will,” Doc said.
    After he gave the horse an antibiotic shot, Doc left, and we carried out his orders, cleaning out the shed behind the house for Emma Lou’s temporary home, to prevent her from infecting the rest of the horses. Instead of one of Mom’s home-cooked suppers, we ate pizzas from the freezer, and Maggie and I munched ours in chairs outside the shed. Every time Emma Lou made a sound, Maggie jumped up to check on her.
    The celestial events occurred that night without notice, at least at the Rocking Horse Stables. Maggie’s telescope remained on the porch, unused. At ten, I coaxed my exhausted daughter into the house. In her room, Maggie climbed into bed and I flicked on the strings of Christmas lights that hung across her ceiling. As I prepared to leave, I turned the lights off.
    “No,” Maggie said. “Please, Mom. Leave them on.”
    I flipped the switch back on, and the ceiling glowed softly with the small, white lights. Before I left, I bent